This poem was written last year, in a writers’ workshop under the leadership of Kate Foley. She challenged us to use language in different ways. The poem links back to a war that ended sixty five years ago, but perhaps the experience is still known to military families?
This poem appeared in Open Writing in May 2010
two us
mama mama
dada come
dada?
more us
me me me me
three us?
She always lifted me,
a hands cradle of lift
then comfort.
I hung heavy in his hands,
under the arms, legs dangling,
forever.
Returning from the killing, he was awkward,
he never caught up with us.
He never had the language.
